With the look of a car that spent a few years behind a double-wide outside Lodi, where it served as a convenient target for Schlitz-enhanced marksmen and bumper-jack-wielding yahoos, this Firebird seems strangely tranquil in an East Bay wrecking yard. I counted at least 100 bullet holes and at least that many empty beer cans in the old Pontiac, but all that lead and aluminum will soon be melted down with the steel.